


By Your Hand

by girls_like_girls



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Fighting, Heavy Angst, Hurt Brienne, Hurt Jaime, Hurt/Comfort, I'm just trying something out here, Riverrun, Slow-ish burn, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girls_like_girls/pseuds/girls_like_girls
Summary: What happens if Jaime had to take Riverrun with bloodshed?





	1. Let It Be By Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that started on Tumblr, but I decided to beef it up a little and post it here.

"Go on!" The Blackfish was gruff, and Brienne stood tall before him. Though she didn’t know much about him, she could tell he had honor. That was enough for her.

"I will not."

He smirked at her, and drew his sword, "I haven't had a proper sword fight in years. I expect I'll make a damn fool of myself."

Brienne drew her sword, gripping Oathkeeper tightly in her palm. The sounds of the battle filtered down the stairwell. She watched the Blackfish go up them and turned to Podrick.

"Stay here, Pod." She motioned towards the rowboat.

"I can fight, my lady!" He nearly sounded petulant. They'd been working on his swordsmanship daily, he’d been improving but she knew even a new recruit in the Lannister army could run him through. She wouldn’t risk it.

"If we need to retreat, I need you here."

She waited for Podrick to acknowledge her command. Brienne didn't do it often, treat him like a squire, but she would not risk his life. He nodded but didn’t look at her. She wanted to say something, to let him know that it was for his own good, but the words escaped her. She followed the Blackfish up the stairwell. The battle had begun.

She was immediately engaged by a Lannister soldier. She overpowered him easily, only to cross blades with another. She stood her ground. She parried, thrust, ducked and sidestepped many blows. She cut down a young soldier whose inexperience had been glaringly obvious. It strengthened her resolve about leaving Podrick away in a safe place, away from the fighting.

She turned to survey the battle around her and she felt as if her heart would stop in her chest. He'd just ended the life of a Tully soldier, and now his gaze was set to her. A grunt sounded from behind her, and she turned in time to cross blades with a Lannister opportunist. A Tully soldier stabbed the Lannister soldier from behind, and she watched him fall before her. She turned again, and Jaime was moving across the battlement towards her. She gripped Oathkeeper tightly as he drew closer, her mind trying and failing to view him as the enemy, as someone trying to kill her, someone she needed to kill.

"I don't want to do this, wench."

He spoke softly, and she knew he meant it. She'd known when she stood in his tent that he didn't wish to fight her. Had no desire to, but they were honor-bound. Her to Sansa, him to Cersei. The choice was not their own. All they could do was ensure the end was honorable. She fought nausea rising in her throat. Could she end his life? Could he end hers?

"Can I have this dance?"

Brienne tried for some of Jaime's old arrogance, but it fell flat. There was a slight flicker in his eyes, signaling he remembered. He remembered saying it to her, years ago on a bridge, his tone both cocky and full of mischief. She’d sounded sad and afraid. She wasn't scared for herself, but for him. She'd fought him with two hands, and bested him. He could not win against her one-handed.

She watched as he raised his sword, and took up his fighting stance. The sounds of blades clashing around them faded away as she followed suit. They held each other's gaze for a moment before their battle commenced.

He swung first, catching the tip of her blade. She deflected but stayed on the defensive. She didn't have a plan in mind. She didn't want to kill him. Brienne parried and deflected a near-fatal blow, surprised by the ferocity of it. She steeled herself, and on his next advance, she deflected and pressed the advantage. She rained down three bruising blows. He grunted as he blocked them, their twin swords impacting one another painfully, like a cry for help. It was reminiscent of the first time. Thrust. Parry. Kiss. Retreat. A constant back and forth with neither gaining much leverage. She could say with certainty that neither of them was actually trying. She’d heard the tales and even with his off-hand the instinct was still there.

Her mind wouldn't stop racing. Images. Memories. She tried to ignore them. Recalling how he looked in the baths at Harrenhal would do little for her resolve. Reminiscing on how he'd felt in her arms feverish, malnourished and near death wouldn’t help her defeat him.

He swung high and followed with a kick to her shin. It was quite a blow, and she fell to one knee. Brienne looked up at Jaime, pain in her eyes. Remorse shone back in his. _Would he end her?_ He faltered.

His moment of hesitation was enough. Dropping Oathkeeper, she rushed him, tackling him to the ground. They rolled and she found herself astride him. Even in her armor, the position felt intimate, and she cursed herself for that train of thought.

"Yield!" She pressed her forearm to his jugular. He didn't sputter beneath her, but locked eyes with her and weakly struggled to free himself. He wasn't even trying.

"Jaime...please." She could feel herself lessen the pressure she was applying. His face was turning an alarming shade of red. The light in his eyes started to fade as they watered.

"Don't!" He gripped her forearm, her studded sleeve biting into the tanned flesh at his throat. The tears rolled down his cheek, and she wanted to wipe them away.

"If I am to die here, let it be by your hand."

She couldn't look away from him. He looked resigned to his fate. Tired and ready to die. He looked at peace with his ending. She could do it, she could give him an honorable death. But would she? Was it selfish of her to deny him something he clearly longed for? They seemed suspended in the moment, then there was swift movement from her right. Before she properly registered the threat, there was a painful impact against her temple, and then the world melted away.


	2. Let Her Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loves these two. If that's not obvious....  
Enjoy!

Her head was pounding. It felt like drummers were marching in her temple, banging away angrily. Through the pounding, she tried to remember where she was, and what had caused the pain that was radiating the right side of her face.

_Riverrun._

_The Blackfish._

_Jaime._

Jaime wanted to die and he wanted her to do it. He'd said so, then everything went black. Her surroundings began to register and voices filtered in.

".....that's fucking impossible."

"Impossible?"

"She's as big as the fucking Hound; you can't sneak her out of camp." 

The voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it. He seemed annoyed. Sneaking her out of camp did seem unrealistic. She was a head taller than most of the men. 

"She can't stay here," he hissed and she immediately recognized Jaime's voice. She could tell he was worried for her, much like he'd been when Locke and his men captured her. She stirred a little, but neither man seemed to notice.

"Then let her go."

"She killed Lannister men." Jaime sounded exasperated, similar to when they were looking down at Sansa in the gardens, plotting how to get her out of King's Landing.

"And one nearly took her fucking head off. How she survived that...." He whistled. "She's a fighter, that one."

"She is... I can't take her back to King's Landing....where's Pod?"

"I squirreled him away. He's down the river. Waiting for her."

Brienne felt a weight lift from her chest upon hearing that Pod was alive and safe. She would have blamed herself had something happened to him. It’d been what was best for him, he would have surely perished in the fight against Lannister soldiers. 

"You worried your sweet sister might hurt her?" 

The man's question didn't seem genuine, as if he knew the answer and was simply goading Jaime. The thought of Cersei turned her stomach. Their last encounter had not been one she’d like to relive. The Queen regent made her disdain quite clear. 

The silence stretched on and the foul man spoke again. "Wouldn't surprise me. She thinks she owns you. Wouldn't do for her if you'd given a piece of yourself to another woman."

"I haven't given a piece of myself--"

"Horseshit! I was there. You'd given her some pretty armor, half your sword, looking like you'd run after her fucking horse."

She'd heard enough, maybe too much, if she were honest. She groaned and attempted to right herself. The task proved more difficult than she thought, but there was a helping hand at her back. She hadn't realized before, but her armor was gone, and the warmth from Jaime's hand seared through her tunic. 

"Brienne...take a moment." He helped her sit upright and gestured toward a wineskin near the cot. "Drink."

The water soothed her parched throat. He hadn't moved his hand and his touch was alarming and distracting. He didn't touch her often. She could count on one hand the times he did, though she couldn’t deny that his touch was welcomed.

"How's your head?"

He moved his hand then, only to gently caress her head. It was tender to the touch, and she couldn't help the hiss that escaped her chapped lips. He dropped his hand, much to her chagrin. She could deal with the discomfort if it meant he would keep touching her. He didn’t touch her again, but he stayed close, kneeling near the cot, his golden hand hung by his side, but his left hand brushed against her calf. She wondered if it was intentional.

"It hurts. What happened?"

"A boot. A pretty big one," Bronn chimed in, a glint in his eyes. She recognized him then, the sellsword who’d given Pod a battle ax. He looked between the two of them. "I'll find a horse; she has to be gone by dawn."

"Dawn? You said you couldn't sneak her out." 

Bronn shrugged. "She can't stay. She's a woman. A mighty one, but a woman. It's not good for camp, and you can't kill any more men for her. That might get back to your sweet sister."

Jaime glared at Bronn, though the sellsword was unfazed as he left the tent. He could be heard ordering men to their posts. Brienne looked at Jaime, but he didn’t return her gaze. 

"What did he mean 'any more men'?" She reached for his chin and raised it, made him look at her. His eyes were dark, a flash of something she hadn’t seen before. 

Jaime sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

"Ser Jaime?"

"I killed him. The one who kicked you..... I killed him." He exhaled and pulled away from her touch. He stood slowly and began to pace. 

Brienne looked away and bit her lip, nodding once. It would cause an issue. He was the Commander of the Lannister army. He'd killed a Lannister soldier who saved his life, then he kept his would-be murderer in his tent. 

“I hadn’t meant to, I mean I...you were lifeless, astride me! When he shoved you off of me it just happened. My sword was near my left hand and when he pulled me up…” He hadn’t stopped pacing and she worried about his nerves. He moved freely without his armor, back and forth across the tent.

"The Blackfish?" She looked to him and waited, it made him stop pacing, but he didn’t seem any calmer if anything he seemed worse at the mention of the Tully patriarch. His silence was her answer.

"Podrick lives. Bronn sent him down the river."

She nodded, though she'd already heard it. She didn't know what to say to him. Should she thank him?

"Why didn't you flee? Why did you stay and fight?" Jaime looked at her, pain clear in his eyes. He walked over to her and lowered himself to his knees once more.

"You knew I would." It was a whisper.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t.”

They held each other’s eyes, she could tell he was haunted. Fighting him was one of the hardest things she’d had to do, holding his life in her hands had been terrifying and knowing he’d been willing to give it to her. Wanted her to take his life...she couldn’t fathom it.

"By my hand?" Another whisper.

He looked away. "If it were inevitable."

"You didn't try."

"I did."

"You did not!" She stood at her declaration, anger coursing through her. For a moment she took in the sight of him, on his knees before her, but the tent began to spin, and she swayed on her feet. Jaime stood immediately, steadying her.

"You tasked me with taking your life. My hand..." She looked him in the eyes, her mind foggy. Surely that wasn't all due to her head. He grabbed her right hand with his left. His thumb stroking her palm gently.

"To die by the hands of an honorable woman is a death I don't deserve, but one I would gladly accept."

"I don't think I could." Her voice caught, and she looked away from him. It was too much; he was too close. She felt uneasy and confused, she withdrew her hand and turned from him. If she were to cry, she’d prefer if he didn’t see it. 

"Well, let's hope you don't have the opportunity again."

"Hope didn't go so well for us last time," she breathed. She hadn't thought she'd see him again. When she rode away from King's Landing with Pod in tow, she was sure that was it. Cersei's words danced in her mind.

_But you love him._

She’d loved Renly, or so she thought. If what she felt for Ser Jaime was love then Renly was merely a passing fancy. Or maybe love had many faces, like a Braavosi assassin. She’d thought what she’d felt for Renly to be the pinnacle and losing him had hurt, but the thought of Ser Jaime Lannister dead, by her hand no less, was horrific, she couldn’t stomach it. 

“I couldn’t best you if I’d tried. We both know it.” He spoke words she’d thought herself, but that changed nothing. She would’ve carried the weight, carried the stain of his blood on her hands. 

“I trusted you to give me the death of a knight. A death-”

“Stop talking about your death! You can’t…” She turned to him, eyes red with tears, her movement far too fast for her body. She stumbled into him. He held her up, his arms around her, the fingers of his left hand brushing her lower back.

"You should rest."

He held her like she was a delicate maiden, a damsel in distress. She should hate it and him by extension, but the feel of his arms around her was right. As if she’d always belonged there. They were pressed against one another, fitting together like clasps on armor. 

He led her to the cot and she lowered herself. He leaned down, brushing a few wayward strands of hair from her face. His fingers gingerly brushed against her tender temple and she managed to only wince. They continued on their journey, across her cheek, before tracing the length of her bottom lip. She shivered as he pulled his thumb away.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you before dawn.”


	3. We'll Make It So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> So.... Ro_Nordmann made me a beautiful banner and I can't figure out how to post it here 😭😭😭😭  
(Also posting from mobile so maybe that's it)
> 
> Um... we're moving along here and if you noticed the chapter-length changed....well thank Ro. I'm inspired. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry for the wait.

Jaime looked down at Brienne as she slept, the sky was starting to pinken, the sun inching higher. Bronn would arrive soon with a plan to safely get her out of camp. She’d reunite with Podrick and more than likely head back to Winterfell, back to Lady Sansa. Away from him. The thought shouldn’t be troublesome, he was going back to Cersei, back to his soulmate, back to the only woman he ever loved. And yet...his heart ached knowing that once again, he would watch her leave him. 

_"Wouldn't surprise me. She thinks she owns you. Wouldn't do for her if you'd given a piece of yourself to another woman."_

_"Horseshit! I was there. You'd given her some pretty armor, half your sword, looking like you'd run after her fucking horse."_

Bronn’s words echoed in his head. How had it happened? How had he grown to care for her? Care for her enough to halt his voyage back to Cersei? To jump in front of a bear whilst malnourished, crippled and weaponless? He’d gifted her a sword and armor. He’d given her gold and horses. A squire. _He’d given her his heart. _And he’d been none the wiser.

The sight of her in Riverrun had nearly stolen his breath. Clad in armor; the armor he had made for her. Wearing half his sword on her hip. _Half his heart. _He’d meant it when he told her the sword would always be hers. His heart would always be hers. He could claim that she’d stolen it, but it would be a falsehood. He’d given it freely, with every night on the road to King's Landing. Every look. Every moment of tenderness from her. 

Bronn was right, he’d given a piece of himself to another woman, the most important piece and he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. To regret her. He would send her away, to save her, like he did when he sent her away from King’s Landing. He looked forward to the day that he would no longer have to part ways with her. 

“Aye, you lovesick fuck. It’s nearly first light. If she’s going, it needs to be now.” Bronn didn’t linger and for that Jaime was grateful. He turned back to Brienne and saw that she was still resting. He walked over to the cot and kneeled. She looked youthful in sleep and yet she had the power of a man twice her age. She had the allure of a woman twice her age. He reached out and stroked her cheek gently.

“Brienne.” 

She stirred from his touch and she blinked rapidly before her brilliant blue eyes met his. He didn’t want her to go. It was selfish and unfair to her, but he didn’t know how he’d let her leave him again. Not after he finally accepted what she meant to him. 

“Is it dawn?” 

He nodded and helped her as she sat up. The feel of well-formed muscles flexed beneath his hand. He couldn’t help but watch her, she was quite the marvel. They stood together and he took in the sight of her. The lightweight cotton hung loosely from her shoulders and hips. 

“What’s the plan?”

She walked over to where he’d set her armor and began the process of putting it on. She started with her padded leather shirt. She moved efficiently and he was taken by the dexterity of her fingers. He’d never paid much attention to her hands, but her fingers were long and deft. Strong. 

“Bronn only said that the time was now.” 

“And you trust him?” 

She’d moved on to the chainmail and he recalled how specific he’d been about the details of it. The armorer hadn’t questioned him though he was sure the stout man had questions. That was a perk to being the golden son. No one questioned his demands. 

Her question gave him pause. Did he trust Bronn? The sellsword had been a loyal friend, he’d kept his secrets, along with Tyrion's. But trusting Bronn with a Lannister was easy, a Lannister always paid their debt. Brienne wasn’t a Lannister. 

“He has never given me reason not to.” 

“He’s a sellsword.”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory, it was more matter-of-fact. She pulled her cuirass over her head, pulling it down so it sat in the proper place. He was drawn again to her hands, delicate yet masculine. 

“He’s a friend.” He walked over and helped her with the pauldrons, it was a task, making his left hand and her right work together as if they were of the same body. Their fingers brushed multiple times as each time her face was tinged pink and Jaime thought the sight was endearing. He stepped away after the job was done, unfamiliar with the feeling thumping through him. He’d felt desire before, but it was always tinged with self-loathing and lust. What he felt for Brienne was softer. Pure.

He reached for Oathkeeper, their fingers brushing once more. The red and the gold of her sword belt seemed wrong, like a brand. Though, the thought of it being known that she was his, was not an unpleasant thought. 

“I wish I had something to send you off with.” 

She looked at him, the frown lines between her eyebrows were prominent, “Every time you see me off, you don’t have to give me gifts. Last time you gave me multiple. Armour. Sword. Squire.”

“I know I needn’t do it, but I would like to.”

“You don’t have to shower me in gold, I am not your friend because of your name. If I recall correctly, you prefer to be only Jaime. You have given me the best of gifts, you kept your oath to Lady Catelyn.” 

The thought of Lady Stark troubled him. How she’d met her end was barbaric and to think he’d just secured Riverrun for the monster responsible. The Stark matriarch had despised him, yet he couldn’t help but admire her. She was what a mother should be and she’d done all in her power to protect her children. 

“You consider me a friend?”

“Should I not?” There was lilt to her question as if she were amused.

“I’d say we’ve earned the title…”

Could there be more? Should there be more? He was damaged and she was the epitome of a knight. She was honor-bound and a genuine oath keeper. She was the sun of her house’s sigil and he the moon. Opposites. Destined to pass in the night but never meet. Never linger. Never know one another. 

He watched her fiddle with her fingers, “Ser Jaime?”

“Lady Brienne?” 

“Can I ask something of you?”

He wanted to know what the look in her eyes meant. He wanted to understand the nerves that were present in her stance and the restlessness of her hands. 

“Anything.” 

“Live. If not for yourself ...then for me.” She didn’t look at him and we wanted nothing more than to read the story he was sure her eyes were telling. It was something he’d never struggled with. Words seemed to dance on parchment, Cersei’s gaze was never honest but Brienne…. he’d been able to read her immediately. 

He waited for her to look at him and when she did he saw it. _Fear. _She was afraid for him. 

“Brienne-”

“I don’t-I won’t leave if you don’t swear it. You can’t-I can’t go back to Winterfell if I have to worry that you’re putting yourself in danger.” 

Her eyes shone with tears. He did that to her, he’d never seen fear in her eyes. Not when he’d left Harrenhal, not when she was in the bear pit with a wooden sword, but standing before him, she was scared. She wanted him to live.

“I’m a knight and though I have broken that vow before, I tend to keep it going forward.”

She nodded, “As you should, but there is no need to throw your life away. Be brave, be just, defend the innocent, but live! I have to know that you...that you’re alive. Jaime, I won’t…-”

She took a deep breath, the sound pulled him out of his thoughts. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. She shook her head slightly and squared her shoulders, pulling herself to her full height. He watched the process and he’d known her long enough to know what it meant. To know she was steeling herself.

“Ser Jaime, you wanted to send me off with something. This is all I ask. Give me your word, that you will no longer be careless with your life.” 

She took a step closer to him and having her in his space was disconcerting. She reached for him, then faltered and he wanted her to do it, to touch him. He looked down, away from her imploring eyes. A firm hand on his chin, caused him to look into her eyes once more.

“Swear it. By the Seven.” A tear slid from her cheek, “please.” 

He nodded, he hadn’t thought he’d been careless, but he was tired. Tired of the scheming, the killing, the death, the manipulation. He would love to disappear, leaving his Lannister name and everything that came with it behind. But he couldn’t, he was the golden son and with his father dead, his sister on trial and his brother gone, he couldn’t leave. 

Not yet.

“I swear it... Can I ask something in return?”

Her hand fell away from his face and he missed it immediately. He realized that her touch was gentle, gentler than Cersei’s. She as a whole was gentler than Cersei. Better, she was better than Cersei and he'd thought that they were bound. They were meant to be, but for the first time, he could see beyond her.

“This would be the last time that I watch you leave.” 

“I’m not sure what you mean?” 

He sighed and looked away, the weight of everything making his chest feel heavy. The notion of what he was asking should be preposterous. He had never done anything just for himself, every decision he made was because of Cersei or his father. To better the family name. He cared very little for his family name. It was a burden, one he wanted to be rid of.

“I-”

“We need to be off. Sun’s comin’ up.” Bronn poked his head in, but again, he didn’t linger inside the tent. 

Brienne grabbed Oathkeeper and fastened the sword belt with practiced ease. Her fingers flexed as she clasped the last buckle. As if instinctively, her hand gripped the lion pommel. He reached out and brushed his fingers against hers. 

“We carry two halves of one sword. It was meant to be a sword for my heir, I feel the time for heirs has passed me by, at least heirs I can be a father to. I told you it would always be yours and it will. ” He took a deep breath, but he didn’t look up at her. 

“When we cross paths again… I want to give you more than just half my sword. I want to stand before the Septon and say the words because though I don’t know when it happened... I am yours.” 

There was a childlike wonder in her eyes and Jaime needed to know what her thoughts were, he’d essentially asked for her hand. He wanted to make her a bride, a wife and maybe even a mother. He wanted freedom and we wanted her.

“Say something, please.” 

She gripped Oathkeeper and took a step closer to him, close enough that they were breathing the same air, their noses nearly touching. Her mouth was little more than a hair’s breath away. 

“You are mine.... when we meet again, we’ll make it so.” 


	4. I Don't Answer To Her.

“You’re quiet for a giant,” Bronn whispered as they moved along the outskirts of the camp. They’d passed two soldiers on duty who’d surreptitiously turned the other way. They were now in not so agreeable territory. They were squat behind a covering of trees, a soldier casing the perimeter. His movements were sure, practiced, he wasn't a soldier who could be bought. He took his duty seriously, she could respect that.

“I don’t much like this one, wouldn’t hurt to kill him.” He drew his dagger and Brienne grabbed his wrist in a firm grip. He was impulsive and that was dangerous. 

“Killing him would call attention to us and though you seem to be decent with a sword, fighting an entire army is not how I’d like to spend the morning.” She released her grip on his wrist but held his eye, conveying her disapproving and hoping he’d take heed. He sighed as if he were considering her words before smirking at her,

“We’ll do it your way then.” 

So they waited, Brienne watched the routine the young soldier moved in. He was green and nervous. 

“He’ll need to relieve himself soon.” 

Bronn huffed but sure enough, the soldier looked around before disappearing behind a tree. They swiftly moved passed him and headed towards the river. Brienne could hear it gurgling. She was that much closer to getting away, the thought was both welcoming and sad. The distance between the Lannister camp signified her freedom, but also her departure from Jaime. Though it wasn't their first time parting ways, it felt different. 

She’d meant what she’d said to Jaime in the tent, he was indeed hers and though she hadn’t told him she was his, she hoped he knew it. He had to have known it. 

“He’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it.” 

Brienne looked at Bronn then, confused. He didn’t give the appearance of a man who would put anyone before himself. He was a sellsword. The only thing that moved them was gold. Maybe she'd misjudged him.

“You will?” 

He chuckled, his amusement was clear. The gentle cry of the river muffled the sound of his mocking cackle. She didn't enjoy being laughed at, it was too reminiscent of her life before she carried a sword.

“Well, the simple fuck owes me a debt and I intend for him to pay it. Can’t get paid if he’s dead.” 

“Ah, so it has little to do with him and everything to do with your wants.” Brienne spat, her fury manifesting in the sudden red flush of her cheeks. The audacity of him to speak so candidly about Jaime as if he were nothing. As if he was no more than the gold his name allotted him. It was men like Bronn, gold-hungry and malicious, that turned her stomach. Why had Jaime trusted such a man? 

“Calm your tits, he’ll be fine. Wouldn’t want to displease his lady love now would he?” 

Brienne blanched and was immediately irritated by how smug and amused Bronn was. _ Lady love _ . She held no displeasure at her feelings for Jaime, somehow Bronn made it seem tawdry and cheap. What she shared with Jaime was more than a torrid affair. She couldn’t put a name to it, didn’t know if _ love _was the correct word, but she knew that she needed him to be alive. She could go years if she could hold on to his image and know that he was well, wherever he may be. 

“I am not his lady love. We are- I am- well it’s truly none of your concern.” 

Bronn scoffed, “He’s a lovesick fuck and it’s obvious to anyone with two eyes. How his sister doesn’t see it means she’s a daft fuck. And you…well my lady, you seem to be the only one with a fuck of sense.”

Brienne mulled his words over as they drew nearer to the river, she’d heard Bronn when she’d first come out of her state of unconsciousness. She knew what the sellsword thought and how he had little idea of propriety to keep said thoughts to himself. 

“Ser Jaime is a good man and-"

“I know you think the sun shines out of his golden ass. No need to sing me a song of his honor. All I mean is, I’ll make sure he stays alive. Do you truly care why I do it?” 

“It matters, loyalty is important to me. Loyalty and honor and oaths.”

“He’s an oathbreaker, guess you don’t care as much for it all as you thought.” 

A haze flowed over her and before she could calm herself she had Bronn thrust up against a tree, her forearm on his windpipe. 

“You know nothing of honor and oaths. Or loyalty. You are a sellsword, one who follows gold and holds it above all else. Ser Jaime is a knight, a man of honor, the words whispered and spit about him are said from cowards who know nothing. He is thrice the man you’ll ever be and you’ll do well to remember that.” 

“M’lady?” 

Brienne turned from Bronn to see Podrick standing behind her. Her eyes lit up and she unceremoniously dropped Bronn to the cold, damp Earth. Her mind had run rampant with different scenarios. she’d hoped that she’d taught him well enough to defend himself. Hoped that he was smart enough to hide if he was outnumbered. Hoped that she wouldn’t have to lose him. 

“Podrick.” 

She wasn’t one for outward affection but her eyes tracked him twice, ensuring that he was safe and in one piece. No blood, cuts, scraps, anything. He was safe. 

“Aye Pod! She’s bloody strong, you picked a good teacher.” Bronn wheezed from behind them. Brienne didn’t acknowledge him, she’d had enough of the sellsword. He was a spineless man whom she had no desire to continue being in the presence of. She hoped that he was at least driven enough by his love for gold to do as he said. To keep Jaime alive. To keep him safe. As she followed Pod all she could wonder was when she'd see him again. 

* * *

Jaime paced, watching the entrance to his tent. The sun peeked through, comfortable in the sky. _ How long had it been since Bronn had taken her away? _Since he watched her walk away from him again. It hurt more this time, the ache in his heart was stifling. He wasn’t prepared for the emptiness. For her absence. Did it always hurt this badly?

_ You are mine, when we meet again, we’ll make it so. _

She’d said when not if. She had every intention of seeing him again. _ He was hers. _ Though she hadn’t said it, she was his. There was no other explanation. She asked him; demanded that he live. It meant something. She carried half his sword, half his heart. He would hold true to the promise he’d made. He was a knight, her knight. He was hers, he had always been hers. 

The flap of his tent was yanked open and in walked Bronn.

“Is she safe?” There was fear in his voice and he couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed of it. He knew Brienne could handle herself, Bronn as well, but there was an army outside of his tent and though she was a great swordsman she couldn’t take on his entire army. 

"They’re off, down the river. Headed for Winterfell.” 

The ache in his heart eased. _ She was safe. _He felt weak in his knees, his stomach was in shambles. His heartbeat for two in a way it never had before. Not even for Cersei. Whatever he and Cersei had, was not what he felt with Brienne. Though he’d never touched her in the way he touched Cersei. Kissed her the way he'd kissed Cersei. He loved her in a way he couldn't love Cersei. Brienne held his soul, she carried him with her as she rode all over Westeros. He couldn’t compare the two, there was no comparison. Not when the mere thought of Brienne being harmed crippled him. Not when he struggled not to follow her down the river, to Winterfell. Far from King's Landing, far from Cersei. 

Bronn plopped down in a chair next to the war table, “Aye, she’s headed into a fucking war. The Stark girl wants Winterfell and those Bolton fucks won’t give it up without a fight.” 

Jaime nodded. Ned Stark’s bastard was with Sansa and they would fight. They were rallying their bannermen, he’d allowed Brienne to cross the siege line for it. He knew where she was headed and he knew if she made it back in time she would fight for her Lady, but he also knew she would be fine. The Warrior would give her favor and the Mother would protect her. The Stranger wouldn’t dare touch her, he was certain of it. He couldn't doubt it, he wouldn't be able to cope if he did. 

“She’ll live, you’ve never seen her with a sword.” 

“Don’t need to. I’ve fucking seen her. She moves like the fucking Warrior, has the strength of’em too.”

Jaime watched Bronn rub his throat. He didn’t want to know what Bronn had done to incur her wrath, he knew Brienne rarely lost her temper and he knew Bronn was reckless with his tongue. 

“I got your lady love out of camp, what will you tell your sweet sister?”

Jaime turned to look at Bronn, he had thought about what would happen when they made it back to King's Landing. Cersei had already sent a raven saying she needed him back. He was set to feast with the Frey's and then return to King's Landing, to Cersei. It no longer held the same allure. 

"You have to tell her something, men gossip more than whores in a brothel." 

"I don't answer to her."


	5. Ice Will Be Reunited Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the beautiful banner Ro!  
Alright lovelies, I really didn't expect this story to receive the response it has and I'm still so very baffled by it, so thank you so much.  
This chapter wasn't initially going to happen, I was going to skip right to the Dragon Pit scene but after talking with sameboots, I decided it was necessary. 
> 
> I want to thank sassbewitchedmyass and sameboots for their constant support.  
And Ro_Nordmann for the banner, because every time I look at it, I'm inspired.

The Mountain stood over her, her head against the stone. She didn’t fight and he wanted her too. He’d expected her to, he'd prepared for it. It was pointless and he knew that, but it was better than simply accepting her fate, which he hadn't. Maybe she had, be he was selfish and couldn't reconcile it all, reconcile living in a world where she didn't exist. 

She looked at him, eyes blue as the water surrounding Tarth. He’d seen it once and thought of her. Longed for her. Wished he'd been going to Tarth, going to her at that time, but he hadn't been and now he never would. Though her eyes took him there. They were as calm as the water had been. He was grateful for that; he didn’t know if he could hold eye contact if she’d looked afraid. If she’d shown any shred of fear, he’d have done something reckless. He knew that. He thinks she knew it too. She was being strong for both of them. He was ashamed that she had to be, that he hadn’t protected her. 

The Mountain raised his sword and paused, looking behind Jaime. He knew Cersei stood there, knew she relished in the pain this was sure to cause him. It was his fault. He’d never forgive himself. He didn’t let it show, he looked at Brienne once more and she smiled at him.

_ I am yours and you are mine. _

Her words were barely a whisper but he heard them and knew them to be true. He nodded, his heart heavy as the Mountain’s sword came down, he didn’t look at away, he refused to let her die alone. The light in her beautiful eyes was immediately extinguished and he felt his stomach churn. His knees weakened beneath him and he fell to the dirt. He cried but there was no sound. There was a hand placed on his shoulder and he flinched away from the touch.

“You are mine brother; you’ll do well to remember that.”

Jaime awoke with a jerk, sweat covering his face and soaking the satin sheets in the White Sword Tower chambers. His breath came quick and he couldn’t seem to catch it. The images his mind conjured haunted him. It was too much and the tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“She’s fine, far from here.” He whispered to himself. A mantra that he repeated near-nightly when the nightmares were too much and he awoke, sweat-soaked, her name on his lips, tears in his eyes. It was always the same, she was executed, he was forced to watch, Cersei was there. Taking her from him. Reminding him that his life was not his own. Reminding him that he'd cursed Brienne to such a fate. His love for her would be the death of her, it was what kept him from sleep, what made it difficult for him to eat. The knowledge that his Cersei was hateful enough to kill her made him ill. He needed her to stay far from King's Landing. 

When he’d returned the sky had been green with wildfire smoke. The Sept in ruin, Tommen had jumped from the Red Keep window, Cersei smirked as she was crowned Queen. _Queen._ He’d known it was what she’d wanted, not satisfied with just being Robert’s Queen or Queen Reagent. He never thought she’d forfeit their last child to do it, but he should have. She could be ruthless, he'd seen it first hand and now she was his Queen and she’d made her power known shortly after his arrival. 

He’d been summoned immediately after her coronation and feast. Their son’s body was to be burned, the wreckage from the Sept of Balor still stunk of death and decay, yet she cared for none of it. As soon as the door to her chambers were closed, she struck him across his face. The force split his lip and enflamed his temper. It’d been some time since she’d hit him in a show of violence. He hadn’t missed it.

“How dare you?” Her anger was clear. She was seething; her voice shaking. He didn’t speak, he wasn’t sure what exactly she was angry about. There was a list of things she could blame him for, it was common for her to take her anger out on him.

“You allowed that beast of a woman to kill my men! You allowed that giant cow her freedom!” She went to strike him again but he grabbed her wrist. He schooled his features as she snatched away from him. He couldn’t show that Brienne meant anything. He’d made a promise, he intended to keep it. He hated to admit that Bronn had been right. He knew Cersei would find out about Brienne, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

“They were my men! Their blood is on my hand, not yours.” It was true, she wasn’t Queen when he’d allowed Brienne to go free and even if she had been, he would've allowed her to go free. It wouldn't have been the first time he allowed Brienne to go free against Cersei's wishes, even if she hadn't expressly stated it.

“You let her go.”

“She escaped. I’d received your raven and returning to you was more important than one woman, I put you first.” He tried to appeal to her, in the only way he knew how. Maybe it would placate her; allow the notion of Brienne’s importance to flee from her mind. 

“Don’t lie to me brother, you’re not very good at it.”

He watched her; wary. He knew she was dangerous when she felt threatened, the Sept was proof of that. She wasn’t accustomed to not having him to control. He was supposed to be her pawn, at all times. He was supposed to be easy to manipulate. Do her bidding and ask no questions. He couldn’t be that man anymore, if he were honest he hadn’t been that man since his first return to King’s Landing.

“Are you jealous of the Maid of Tarth?”

“I am Queen, she is beneath me.” Cersei’s tone was full of venom and contempt. She was jealous and Jaime knew it. He hadn’t accounted for jealousy, but Bronn had said it. Be it crass or not, he’d been right and Jaime felt like an idiot for not heeding his warning. The sellsword had once said that he’d given a piece of himself to another woman and he’d denied it. He hadn’t given Brienne anything, she took it. And it wasn't malicious and it wasn’t intentional. It happened gradually, it began on their journey to King's Landing and before he realized what had happened, he had nothing left for anyone but Brienne. He’d ached for her when he sent her away from King’s Landing with new armor, half his sword, and Podrick. He’d tried to fill that hole with Cersei, but it hadn’t worked and at the time he didn’t understand why. Cersei had always been enough, he’d needed her like air, like food and water. She didn’t sate him anymore and it left him feeling lost, empty and alone. Seeing Brienne again helped him find himself. She'd given him a purpose and something to look forward to. She'd reinvigorated him with her promise. 

He looked at Cersei and felt like he was seeing her for the first time, “Aren’t we all beneath you Your Grace? The Sept? The Tyrells? Our…our sweet boy? All beneath you. Tell me sister was it worth it?"

He held her eyes, pain in his own. He'd watched two of his children die. Joffery had been the worst of them both, a lost cause. He knew it and he was sure Cersei did too. He'd been cruel and maybe even evil, but that had still been his son, his firstborn. Myrcella died in his arms and it’d hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced. She’d been pure with just a bit of Cersei’s bite. She had been collateral damage, her death had been pointless and caused inadvertently by both his father and Cersei. 

Tommen's death broke Jaime's heart. He was pure, too pure to be a Lannister. Too pure for the Game of Thrones. He wanted to be a good King and he'd been naive. He’d lost them all and he tried not to think about them. He tried not to dwell on how he hadn't been given the chance to be their father. He didn't think about their deaths because if he did he'd see that Cersei had a hand in all of their deaths and he couldn't accept that. 

Not only had he lost all three of his children. Cersei's crime reduced his one pure act of honor to ash and debris. He’d murdered the last person who sat on the throne and threatened to use wildfire and yet his sister had succeeded where Aerys had failed. And she still drew breath.

“My son—”

“Our son is dead! He jumped from a window in the Red Keep. He chose death over life because of what you did!” His voice cracked and spittle flew from his slips, he was angry and hurt. 

“He betrayed me!”

“He was a boy! A child! Surrounded by snakes and spiders. The victim of manipulation at every turn. All our children are dead!” Tears fell from his eyes. It still hurt. His children had never known his love, he’d never held them, never be able to be a father to them. He had a moment with Myrcella, a moment where they were father and daughter before she was stolen from him. When he thought back on it, he wished she had never told him, maybe it would hurt less. She'd died, terrified in her father's arms and he couldn't save her. 

Cersei reached for him and he flinched away from her touch. 

“We can make more. I am Queen now, we can be together. You can father my children. We are destined for each other; soulmates. Everything I’ve done was for us.” She gripped his face in her hands, she seemed sincere and a younger Jaime would have believed her, would’ve happily accepted her words. It’s what he’d wanted for years, but he knew they were only words. Only said to make him fall back in place, be her puppet once more.

He shook off her touch, “You did this for you.”

He stepped away from her and turned to the door. He needed to leave, there was too much pain. Too many lies. Too much he couldn’t reconcile. They were it, Tyrion was gone, their father was dead, their children were dead. She was all that was left and he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

“I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her with my bare hands.”

He knew she thought she could do it, he also knew she was wrong. Brienne could cut her down without much thought or effort if she had to. Though she wouldn’t enjoy it, not the way Cersei would if the roles were reversed. He'd been Cersei's for his entire life and it had caused him nothing but pain and suffering. Being Brienne's felt like a second chance at life, but it also felt like a choice. He looked over his shoulder.

“I loved you my entire life,” he paused and pulled the door open, “Brienne of Tarth didn’t change that. You did.”

* * *

The sight of the Stark Banner at Winterfell was a pleasing one. They’d missed the Battle of the Bastards, but it wasn’t due to a lack of trying. They’d ridden hard after the ride down the river, but it was still a full moon to Winterfell from Riverrun. That was two sennights of worry and constant stress. She ached in ways she never thought she would, in ways she didn’t think she could feel. Her Lady was in Winterfell, gearing up to fight for her ancestral home. Jaime was in the South. Her heart and duty pulling her in two different directions. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling so conflicted. She wasn’t a simpering maiden that they sang about. She wasn’t a Lady. She believed in honor and oaths. Duty and loyalty. She was honor-bound to Lady Stark and Winterfell. It was her purpose and she would always achieve her purpose.

The stories of what happened in King’s Landing were all over Westeros. Whispered about in every inn and tavern they frequented, something Jaime had made ensured they could do. He’d slipped far too much gold into their saddlebags. She wanted to be angry at him but once they were north, sleep outside was difficult and the need for cloaks was made obvious. She knew he’d done it to ensure that she was well and it warmed her to know he’d thought to do so. She’d dreamed of him often, even though they were not always pleasant. Some woke her in the middle of the night, pain in her chest and his name on her lips. Awful images of him hurt or dying, calling for her and she not being there or not getting to him in time. 

She longed to lay eyes on him, even from afar. Across a battlement, or from up on a ridge, like she'd done in Riverrun. Just so she knew he was well, she’d never been gripped by such a need, such fear. The feeling was near crippling. It made breathing difficult, it made her feel hollow and exposed. He'd made a promise and she trusted him to keep it, but that didn't mean he wasn't in danger. 

When they ate in a tavern she listened to the gossip for a word of him. All the Frey’s had been murdered at a feast and she’d nearly lost her meal when she heard it. There was sure to be a feast after the small battle. Had he been there? Had he been killed along with the Frey’s? It’s been four nights before she’d heard he’d been back in King’s Landing when the slaughter had taken place.

After that she stopped listening, she couldn’t take the suspense. She still worried about him. The stories about wildfire and the Sept worried her. There was no way it was an accident; Cersei was on trial. Could she really do such a thing? What would that do to Jaime, knowing his sister had used the very thing that he’d killed his King for? The longer she thought about it the weaker her stomach felt. So she put Jaime and what she felt for him in a trunk, locked it, and placed it in a corner in her mind. Somewhere she didn’t visit often. She locked him away so she could function.

Once she was back in Winterfell she got lost in her duties. Her training with Podrick intensified. She watched Sansa like a hawk, she didn’t trust Lord Baelish, not remotely. Winterfell was abuzz with many changes. There were three Starks in Winterfell and Ned Stark’s bastard was King in the North.

She’d been surprised to see Arya again, though it was a pleasant surprise. She was impressed by her, she admired her strength. They sparred often and it was never short of thrilling. She was small but quick where Brienne was large and powerful. They were quite the pair and usually drew a crowd whenever they crossed blades. She didn’t mind and always left their bouts feeling better than when they'd started. It was nice to have a challenge.

Brandon Stark, who was the Three-Eyed raven, made her uneasy. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. He was a shell of a man with infinite knowledge. He spoke in riddles and she never knew what to make of it. Though when his eyes would morph to a milky white and his body would go still she wondered if he was still a man at all. He always looked at her like he knew all her secrets, she felt exposed. She had nothing to hide and yet he always looked at her like she was a puzzle that he needed to figure out. There was one time he nearly smiled at her.

_“Ice will be reunited soon and many will fall because of it.”_

She hadn’t a clue what it meant, the Starks often said that winter was coming so she assumed that he meant something along those lines. He wasn’t one to explain himself and she dared not ask. Though he unnerved her, he was not her largest concern.

Peytr Baelish was the biggest threat to Lady Sansa and it worried her that the Lady of Winterfell didn’t see it. She’d asked why he was there, inquired about his desires. He didn’t seem honorable and she’d heard about him. Everyone had. He wasn’t a good man. Her first encounter left a horrid taste in her mouth and that taste hadn’t subsided. He was a snake of a man, one who only did things for the betterment of himself. He was attempting to ruin the bond between the Stark sisters and Brienne feared he would succeed. When Sansa asked her to go to King’s Landing in her steed, she wanted to refuse, she’d only recently returned to Winterfell, but her lady assured her that all would be fine. Though Brienne worried for both Arya and Sansa, she did as commanded.

“Are you ready milady?” She nodded. Her mind had been running rampant since Sansa had told her to go to King’s Landing. They were going to attempt a truce with Cersei. She didn’t know if they’d be successful, but she knew that she’d likely come face to face with Jaime. Last she heard he was alive, though there’d been a ridiculous bit about him charging a dragon. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to think about him, she couldn’t. It was too painful.

They mounted their horses and set out; Arya stood outside the stables. She didn’t speak and Brienne wondered what the look in her eyes meant, she hoped it was no ill intent for Sansa. Arya was hard to read, she was a mystery. She hoped the two sisters wouldn’t allow Baelish to tear them apart. She could see Sansa standing on the battlement, Baelish at her side. He wore a sneer and Sansa had acquired quite the poker face. She hoped leaving was the right thing.

“Are you worried milady”

“I am.”

Podrick sighed, “About what we’re leaving or where we’re headed?”

Brienne looked over at him and she shouldn’t be surprised by his question, they could be riding to their death. It was the life that she’d chosen and subsequently he had too, by deciding not to leave her side. “I hear that Cersei is unpredictable. It would be unwise to not have a bit of worry.”

If she were honest, she could go her entire life without ever seeing Cersei again. Her sole interaction had left her shaken. Thought Cersei hadn't been harsh, she'd made Brienne immensely uncomfortable. She'd attacked her honor and insulted her all with a smile and seemingly kind words. Though the declaration she'd made about Brienne had been so disapproving and nearly hostile Brienne had retreated.

_ But you love him. _

She hadn't admitted to herself and yet Cersei had said it as an accusation, as if Brienne had committed a crime, had cursed the Seven. She'd known of the relationship between brother and sister, had accepted it. She hadn't known the depth of ownership and possessiveness that permeated their relationship. She tried to think of it. 

“That she is, but she’s not the Lannister I was speaking of.”

She hadn’t expected that, but Podrick had to know something. He’d woken her many nights from her night terrors, Jaime’s name on her lips, tears in her eyes. He was not as naïve as some would think and she’d stopped viewing him as merely her squire. She looked over at him, too many emotions coursing through her. She knew there was no reason in denying what he was insinuating so she nodded. Her heart was tight and the trunk she’d put Jaime and her feelings for him in had been broken and now it al flowed through her. She was leaving en route to her heart, she just hoped it still beat for her. 


	6. Fuck Loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
This chapter was a hard one and I started over multiple times but I hope the tone and the emotions are there and they are enough.  
Please tell me your thoughts.

When they stepped into the Dragon Pit it was bright, brighter than he remembered it being. They didn’t frequent the Dragon Pit, there was little need to. He spotted Ned Stark’s bastard, looking as serious and judgmental as his father. The last time Jaime laid eyes on the bastard he’d been a child. Now he stood, King in the North, and before that he’d been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.  _ Not bad for a bastard.  _ Jaime's eye swept across the pit taking in all who was there and then his heart stopped. He couldn’t stop walking, it would call attention to who his eyes were trained on. His steps faltered.  _ Why was she here? _ He was angry, she shouldn’t be there. She couldn’t be there. Not with Cersei. Not with the Mountain. He couldn’t protect her in King’s Landing. 

The sight of her stole his breath. Still clad in the armor he gave her, Oathkeeper on her hip. The picture of the Warrior, the softness of the Mother, the pureness of the Maiden. He caught her eye and the look on her face crippled him.  _ Was she afraid? _ _ Was she as relieved to see him alive as he was to see her alive?  _ He walked in front of her, nearly close enough to touch her. Close enough to feel the warmth of her. How he wished he could touch her, talk to her, just look at her freely. He wasn’t strong enough not to look, she called to him, screamed for him. His heart yearned for her. The time they spent apart tested his resolve. He held on to her words. 

_ You are mine... when we meet again, we’ll make it so.  _

Would they? Could they? Were they just words said as a goodbye or would she tie herself to him? Say the words and take him as her husband. He was under no disillusions, he didn’t deserve her. His name and honor were both tarnished beyond repair. There were things he’d done that he didn’t know if he could come back from them and yet, she cared for him anyway. Knowing all he knew, it didn't change his love for her and his desire to have her. 

He looked at her again; helpless to stop himself. Needy for just another look. He’d missed her and it made him weak to know she was so close and yet so far. They were surrounded by foes and allies. They stood on opposite sides of a war that wasn’t theirs. Him loyal to his unworthy sister, her loyal to the young and possibly misguided Starks. He wished they could run away from it. Together. He’d leave it all for her without a second thought. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood and he knew Cersei was watching him. When he pulled his eyes from Brienne, he didn’t dare look at her. He knew what he’d see, anger, judgment; murderous intent. He’d maintained that Brienne was no more than the person who’d escorted him back to King’s Landing and yet both he and Cersei knew that was a lie. 

The sound of the Targaryen girl’s dragon filled the pit. The dragon was massive, larger than he remembered, though it didn’t need to blow fire to seem deadly. Just the sight of it was enough. The sight and sound of it caused Jaime to leave his seat and have another look. Dragons had been gone for hundreds of years, maybe thousands and the last known dragons had been no larger than house cats at the end. Somehow that was no longer the case and the Targaryen girl rode her dragon as if King’s Landing was hers. She was arrogant as she dismounted. There was a strong set to her jaw and she exuded power with every step as she crossed the pit to the dias where everyone was seated. He knew Cersei felt disrespected by her tone and he could tell that the Dragon Queen was completely unphased by Cersei and her displeasure. 

After an ignorant outburst by Euron, the parley commenced. He watched and listened, or tried to. Tyrion spoke of their bad blood but it fell on deaf ears. Cersei cared little for what was being said and she made that clear at every turn. The bastard Snow spoke about how grave the threat was. There was talk of a truce, the Dragon Queen having her own fire aside from that of her dragons. He tried to follow along, and yet knowing Brienne was close was distracting, but when Clegane kicked over the trunk and the undead was revealed Jaime was horrified. It was a thing of nightmarish stories he’d heard as a child. He’d seen Cersei, saw the fear in her eyes. They needed to put their differences aside and face the threat head-on. For a moment, they were all in agreeance. Cersei offered a truce and gave her terms. He could see the anger in the set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow when the Stark bastard said he was unable to adhere to her terms. That he'd pledged himself to another Queen. She’d refused to discuss anything further and in doing so, she’d doomed them all. 

He felt Brienne watching him, he took care not to repeat his entrance, giving Brienne a wide berth. But he knew she’d come to him even before she spoke. He could sense her; feel her. He’d missed it, knowing she was near. It’d been a comfort when they’d traveled together. Knowing that she was there, that there was someone who knew him completely.

It’d been hard in King’s Landing with Cersei. Spurring her advances and accepting her abuse in their steed. She tried to force him once but grew tired of softness. She taunted him after, told him he wasn’t a man anymore. Told him how she would spread her legs for Euron and he would give her pleasures she’d never known. It was meant to hurt him, make him react. There was a time he would have proved her wrong, that was what she wanted. He didn’t fold to the bait. Her words didn’t touch him, she couldn’t hurt him like that anymore. 

“Ser Jaime.” 

Her voice was like water after a long day of sparring, he wanted to bask in it. He couldn’t risk it. Her presence soothed a piece of his battered heart and yet he was angry with her. His emotions swung like a pendulum. To see her with his own eyes and know that she hadn’t been harmed by the Battle of the Bastards was a salve to the wounds that littered his heart. To know that she was once again in a place where the Stranger lurked, waiting for the chance to steal her from him made his blood boil. She wasn’t supposed to be there. He couldn’t remain impartial with her close to him, it was a skill he’d never mastered. 

“It’s been good to see you again, I imagine the next time will be across a battlefield.” He spat the end of his statement, the thought adding venom to his words. He couldn’t do it again, face her in battle, draw his sword on her and view her as his enemy. He no longer desired to cross blades with her and yet he could trust no Lannister soldier to give her the honorable death she deserved. 

“We both saw what just happened. We both saw that thing.” 

He wanted to look at her, look into her eyes and allow everything else to melt away. He needed more than the few glimpses of her he’d had during the parley. It wasn’t enough, but he couldn’t be selfish. Her life was more important than his desire to look into her eyes. To see her, really see her and know that their time apart had not changed things. That he was still hers and she was still his. If he looked into her eyes, it would be clear what she meant to him. He held no shame, but he had the strongest desire to keep her head attached to her shoulders. He couldn’t engage with her, Cersei could not see how familiar they were. It would only embolden her and her plight to put Brienne’s head on a pike.

“Yes, I’m not looking forward to seeing more of them but I’m loyal to the Queen and you’re you’re loyal to Sansa and her dull brother.” Jaime may be called the stupidest Lannister but even he knew that Jon Snow was being unwise in his decision making. Lies were told in King’s Landing as easily as people breathed. It would have been easy to tell Cersei what she wanted to hear, but he was Lord Stark’s bastard, honor ran through his veins. 

“Oh, fuck loyalty!”

She grabbed him, made him look at her. She was as he remembered and even though the timing was wrong he savored the sight of her. She stood tall, back straight making him look up at her. He didn’t mind it, he enjoyed looking up at her. Her hair was still cut short, though the breeze caught it, making it sway. The set of her jaw was firm and yet he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d feel like, lips pressed against his. 

He cursed the armor he wore, for it caused him to miss the feel of her. It’d been years since he’d last touched her and longer since she last reached for him. It would have been when they were on the road heading back to King’s Landing. She’d held him, washed him, and fed him. Though nothing compared to the bath at Harrenhal. Feeling her arms wrapped around him, their body’s slick from the bath, even in his feverish haze, he’d known that in her arms was where he wanted to be. Where he belonged. 

“Fuck loyalty?” She was the most honorable person he’d ever met. Putting her charge’s needs above her own. Her very presence in King’s Landing was proof. 

“This goes beyond houses and honor and oaths. Talk to the Queen.” He knew she was right and if there were as many as the Targaryen girl claimed they didn’t stand a chance. But he knew Cersei, she wouldn’t bend. He turned to her then and she was watching them; glaring. It made him weary. Cersei turned away, leaving a heavy weight on his chest. She’d seen them. And he didn’t know how long she’d been watching. It made him panicky. Cersei wanted Brienne’s head and now Brienne was nearly in her grasp. Close enough to hurt. Close enough to kill. It filled him with dread and fear. 

“And tell her what?” He turned from her, going to follow Cersei. His mind racing a thousand leagues a minute, attempting to downplay what Cersei had seen. There wasn’t much that could be said for their display or the familiar way in which they interacted. It looked as it was. They were two people who were drawn to each other. Her hand brushed his and he stopped, even as the convoy marched on. The soft brush of her skin against his was warm but fleeting. He wanted more, needed more. 

“Jaime….?” 

It was a whisper on the wind, but he heard it, he knew what it meant. It housed so many questions and all the answers he sought. He turned his head, just enough to see her in his periphery. He closed his eyes to enjoy it. The sound of his name on her lips with no formalities. Just Jaime. It shouldn’t cause a stirring deep in his belly. But it did. He turned slightly, enough so he could see her eyes. 

“Yours.

* * *

"Did you not see what I saw?" His frustration was mounting and his sister wouldn't see reason. She'd scoffed and sighed at everything he said. She was as unmoved as the Mountain.

"I saw, quite the display. Tell me, dear brother, what did the Kingslayer's Whore have to say? It seemed quite riveting." Her smirk was full of disdain and it made his nostrils flare. She stood slowly, tapping her fingers against the desk. There was nothing but ill intent written all over her face and for the third time that day Jaime cursed Sansa Stark for sending Brienne into the lion's den. 

It made him sick, _Kingslayer’s Whore_, Brienne wasn’t some tavern girl or whore in a brothel. She was his. She was his awakening. His savior. She was the Maiden in human form. She was the air in his lungs, the blood that flowed to his heart. She was his everything. 

“I’ve learned some things about you and her brother,” She reached out and stroked his cheek, it took all his willpower to allow the touch. It was a deceptively gentle touch. There was a time he would have found it loving. 

“You were free to come home back King’s Landing, back to me. But you didn’t. You turned around and rode back to Harrenhal, back to her.” She gripped his chin, the pads of her fingers rubbing against his stubble. He clenched his teeth but she didn’t release him. 

“You jumped into a bear pit with one hand and no weapon. For her.” She dug her nails into his skin. The feeling like a million tiny cuts all at own. He tried to pull away but she tightened her grip. 

“You allowed her to bathe with you, dine with you, you slept next to her.” He felt nauseous. He wondered how she knew, there were not many men still in King’s Landing from his travels from Harrenhal. Even fewer that were close enough to her that she would listen to. There was but one. Qyburn. 

“The armor she wears, you gifted her with it. She carries half your sword.” She leaned in to kiss him but he didn’t accept it. His lips stayed in a firm line so she bit his bottom lip before pulling away. A bit of blood dripped from his lip down his chin. She leaned in putting her mouth next to his ear.

“I’m going to have her head, then you’ll be mine again.” He jerked away from her, his nightmare playing in his mind. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it. He walked out of the room not looking at her. One singular thought. He had to find Brienne. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is getting longer the more that I write it.


	7. River Row

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm. So. Sorry.  
Please don't hate me. It's been a long month, but I moved! Finally.  
Things are looking good.  
And I gave you guys a long-ish chapter (5k+!!!) to make up for my absence.  
Thank you all for sticking with this fic, we're going places here.  
All mistakes are my own

_ Come to the White Sword Tower at nightfall, when the moon is the only light in the sky. _

Brienne held the parchment in her hands. She looked around her tent then peak out at the encampment but didn’t see anyone who could have snuck in and out undetected. She looked down at the penmanship; she’d never thought much about what Jaime’s handwriting looked like. The splatter of ink on the ‘C’ or the elegance in the childlike curve of the letters. She'd wondered, it'd been three days since the parley in the Dragon Pit. She'd feared nothing would come to past. She was glad to be wrong.

She rolled up the note, sliding it under her chainmail before stepping out of her tent. She walked between tents, catching pieces of conversations. Many were whispering about the Dragon Pit, others about the creature that was shown. It was alarming; war was brewing in the north, and there were whispers of war in the south. Two queens fought for one uncomfortable chair, whilst death marched on the north. It was enough to drive anyone mad, but she put it all aside. Even if only for one night. She reached the edge of camp and released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Be careful.” She stopped, surprised by the gruff voice behind her. She turned to face him. 

“Pardon?” 

Sandor scoffed and spat to his left, “He may be pretty, but he’s still a Lannister. And you can’t trust a fucking Lannister.” 

Brienne felt the need to defend Jaime rise in her, but she didn’t give in to it. She understood Clegane's misgivings, but Jaime was more than _just_ a Lannister. He was **hers**. 

“I trust him.” 

He shrugged and stepped away from her, “then you’re dumber than I thought.” 

She watched him walk away, trying not to take offense, knowing that Clegane had many reasons to hate the Lannisters. They were an unsavory bunch, but Jaime was different. He was a good man, he had honor, and she wouldn’t let anyone change her mind. 

At the edge of the camp, many of the horses were hobbled, grazing or just lounging about. She stroked one before mounting it. She left the camp, nodding to the patrols as she went. There was a tavern up the road; she knew they’d assume she was going there. There was a twinge of guilt at leaving camp without giving word, but her charge was in Winterfell, so she didn’t answer to anyone presently. 

She kept the horse at a gentle trot as to not draw attention to herself. There were a few men huddled and talking in front of the tavern as she approached. She kept her back straight, eyes forward. 

“Oy!” Brienne ignored them, many years of being teased and bullied taught her that engaging did little to stop it. It only resulting in scrapes and bruises. There was something far more important than small men, looking for something to make them feel large. She ignored their heckling though it sounded insistent. She soon heard the sound of hooves meeting the dirt behind her. She placed her hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper, readying herself for an attack. 

“Lady love? Your camp is the other way.” 

She sighed and let her hand slip off of the hilt. Though she disliked the man, he wasn’t a threat. He saddled up next to her, but she didn’t look at him. She wanted to correct him, yet again. She was no lady, and she would never be anyone’s _ lady love _. Such titles were for pretty women with soft hands and fragile sensibilities. She had neither. 

“I know where my camp is.” 

He clicked his teeth and his horse trotted forward, stepping in front of her own. She glared at him, in no mood for whatever he thought he was doing. 

“Move, or be moved.” Brienne grabbed Oathkeeper, pulling it out of its sheath slowly. It sounded like a catapult in the silence of the night.

“Pretty blade, I’m sure you know how to use it. I don’t want to fight.” His smirk made her want to hit him. 

“I kept him alive, as I said I would. Now you can’t go off and get yourself killed. That’s a waste of my hard work, wouldn’t you say?”

“I was summoned.” She said it through clenched teeth; she didn’t have to explain herself to him. She re-sheathed her sword. 

“That’s horseshit.” He looked genuinely insulted as if the notion that Jaime had more than one person doing his bidding was offensive and impossible. Surely the sellsword didn’t believe there was a sense of loyalty between him and Ser Jaime. Gold was the only thing that moved a man like Bronn, loyalty, honor, or oaths meant little to a man like him. 

Brienne smirked at him, “maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you think.” 

Bronn laughed and shook his head, “he wouldn’t entrust summoning you to anyone but me. Who was it?” 

“There was a note in my tent.”

“Well, give it here then.” 

Brienne shook her head, “I will not.” 

“I don’t care to read your love notes. I want to make sure your golden boy wrote it.” 

Brienne sighed but pulled the parchment out from under her chainmail. Bronn reached out and grabbed it; he eyed it for longer than necessary before he shook his head and folded it back up. 

“It wasn’t him.” 

“Oh, how would you know?”

“He mixes his letters like a child would, even when he takes his time. She sent you this, and I’m sure her pet is waiting at the White Sword Tower to take your fucking head.” Bronn handed the note back to her, and she looked at it again. She traced the letters with her pointer finger._ Cersei wanted her head. _It didn’t surprise her if she were honest, she nearly expected it. 

“He didn’t send for me…”

“He did. At first light, s’pose to take you to the Sept in River Row near the fish markets.” 

Brienne’s breath hitched, she couldn’t look at Bronn. Her cheeks were too hot, her hands shaking as she tried to calm her breathing. It’d been her idea, and yet the thought stole her breath. He’d said it in the pit,_ Yours. _ And though she hated watching him walk away from her, she trusted that he meant it. He still wanted whatever they had. She didn’t have a name for it. Making proclamations was daunting because of who they were. He was loyal to the Queen and she to Lady Sansa. Everything about their union was forbidden. But he didn’t care, and so neither did she. 

“Guess you **are** his lady love then eh? I don’t give a fuck about the Seven, but I know there’s only one reason a man meets a woman at the Sept.” 

She still couldn't speak, couldn’t rationalize it all. Riverrun had been years ago. Yet seeing him in the Dragon Pit made her feel like a young girl on Tarth again. He was as she remembered, maybe a little weathered, a little aged, but he was still Jaime. _ Her _Jaime. The sight of him made her heart beat a little too hard against her ribs. 

“And here I thought you were just fucking.” 

Her cheeks flamed and color followed. She wanted to rebuke the sellsword for his crassness, but she knew it'd be for naught. His words weren't offensive, but the thought of it rolled her stomach in a way unfamiliar to her. She’d pledged to wed him but the idea of having Jaime in her bed—she hadn’t allowed herself to think of it. She’d seen him, all of him and yet she could never let herself think of him, of them, in such a state. 

“How far to River Row?” 

“It’s near the King’s Gate. We’d have to travel on foot.” He unstrapped a cloak from his saddle and tossed it at her. “You’ll need this. I’m sure every White Cloak is looking out for you, that should help. Ay, I s’pose we could get moving now, I’m sure your loverboy won’t wait til first light either.” 

* * *

Jaime walked through the halls of the Red Keep, looking not like the golden lion but a simple man. Gone was his Queensguard armor, in its place, linen breeches, and a leather jerkin. A cloak hid his sword. His golden hand was not attached to his right wrist. It felt wrong to give himself to Brienne while wearing it. It was a ghost of his past, something his sister had insisted upon. He would go to Brienne as he was. A man, broken but on the mend. A man that was hers and hers only. 

He pressed into the wall, finding a passageway there. He took 12 steps in and found the torch Bronn left for him. Though it was a struggle he lit it and began his journey. He consulted with Bronn about how best to enter and exit the castle. He knew his sister would have eyes on him at all times. She knew him, knew his heart, and after their altercation, she knew Brienne meant more than he’d initially claimed. 

He moved through the secret passage quickly, but carefully. He’d exit the Red Keep on the south side and it would lead him straight to River Row. Choosing where to meet Brienne had been a challenge. Flea Bottom was too obvious, The Street of Sisters wouldn’t have him, Cobbler’s Square was much too far to be reasonable. River Row was split in two and they were simple people who cared little for the minutiae of the crown or the Queen. They knew of the little birds and would ensure that Jaime and Brienne were safe. He’d paid well to secure it.

Once he exited the Keep, he moved at a steady pace through the northern part of River Row. The streets were quiet; the moon still lit the sky. He stayed alert, watching for any movement. He wondered where she was, how Bronn would get to her, if he could get to her. Jaime missed her. Knowing she was in King's Landing caused a cacophony of emotions. He was happy, yet angry. Pleased and not at ease. All at once. It made eating difficult, and sleep was impossible. He wouldn't calm until he saw her for himself. Saw that she was alive and well.

When he neared the small Sept in River Row, he stopped off at the little house he’d acquired. It belonged to a dead fisherman’s daughter. She’d married and left it empty. Her husband welcomed the gold Jaime offered to use the house for the coming days. The husband even offered to stock the hut with wine, bread, cheese, fruit, and wood for the fire. 

Jaime walked into the cozy house and stepped into the eating area. All that was promised was there. She was worth far more, but they had little time, he would make the most of it. A sound caught his ear, a boot against the wood. He moved with practiced ease, unsheathing his sword and turning on his heels. His blade clashed with another, the figure holding said sword was tall, a little taller than him, a hood covering their face. The moon shone in through the window, illuminating his face. It left his assailant’s in the dark. There was a slight gasp, 

“Ser Jaime.” 

“Lady Brienne.” 

“Ser Bronn of the fucking Blackwater!” 

Jaime chuckled and relaxed his stance. Brienne did the same. She pulled her hood off and Jaime couldn’t help but get lost in the blue of her eyes. She reached out and pushed his hood off his head and gently cupped his cheek. 

“I’ll go wake the septon. Everything you asked for is there.” Bronn motioned to the trunk near the bed before leaving. 

“What is this place?” Brienne asked, her hand warm against his cheek. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched so gently. He was sure it’d been her, but when? He couldn’t recall. On the way to King’s Landing? When his nights were wrought with nightmares? Riverrun as they said goodbye? He’d missed her touch and the sight of her.

“This house? I acquired it. I didn’t know if it would work. If Bronn could get to you, if you’d want to come. I...”

“I’m here. I made a vow, at Riverrun, I mean to keep it.” He watched her, the moon catching just her profile. Her eyes pulled him in, and he could see the youth of the woman he sent away from King’s Landing, and fire of the woman he’d seen at Riverrun. The Mother, the Maiden, and the Warrior. All at once. 

She leaned in and for a moment, he didn’t breathe. She placed her forehead against his. They breathe together, and he let himself enjoy it. Enjoy the peace of it. 

When she pulled away, he took her hand. They walk to the small Sept that way. No words, hands gripping one another's tightly. When they enter, the septon is there with Bronn. They stand in front of the septon, the Seven surrounding them. The septon says a short prayer before beginning the ceremony. 

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Jaime’s hand trembled, just a little, as he untied the cloak she wore. It fell to the floor at her feet. Her armor was underneath and it made him smile. He would have wanted nothing else. He untied the cloak he wore and together, they wrapped it around her shoulders and then tied it at her neck. He cupped her chin briefly before stepping back. 

Brienne bent down to pick up the cloak she’d worn, her finger traces the small sunburst that he was sure she hadn’t noticed before. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. She stepped forward and wrapped the cloak around his shoulders. Tying it in place. The septon’s eyes widened, but he wisely chose not to speak. Jaime nodded and smiled at Brienne. 

The Septon cleared his throat before continuing, “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

They turn, standing side by side, facing the septon who begins to tie a ribbon around their joined hands.

“Let it be known that House Tarth and House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” The ribbon is tied around their hands. Jaime looked over at Brienne; he watched a tear slid down her cheek. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” He unravels the ribbon and Jaime reaches for it, needing to have it. He tucked it into the pocket of his trousers. 

“Look upon each other and say the words.” 

They turn to look at one another. Brienne reached out, and wiped a tear that Jaime didn’t know was there. They speak as one.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger.” 

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.” 

“I am yours and you are mine. From this day until the end of my days. 

Jaime cupped her face in his hand and pulled her to him. The first brush of her lips isn’t the thing of songs. Stars don’t burst or shoot through the sky, but her lips are soft and it feels right, not like years of sneaking kisses and rough touches. Jaime didn’t feel like he should be ashamed; he felt like all was as it should be. 

“Lover boy and his lady love, what a fucking sight.” Bronn muttered from behind Brienne. Jaime smiled against Brienne’s lips but didn’t dispute Bronn’s words. She was his wife, from this day until the end of his days. Nothing that anyone did could change it. The coming wars meant nothing because Brienne of Tarth was his and he was hers. 

“I’m no lady.” She whispered and he smiled before kissing her once more. 

The septon excused himself, probably to document their marriage. Jaime gripped Brienne’s hand in his good one. He was sure he loved her, sure she loved him, but they’d yet to say the words. He didn’t know if he could. Love had never been kind to him, never shown him any mercy either. Brienne would be different; she had to be. 

Jaime led Brienne out of the Sept, leaving Bronn to fend for himself. There was a brothel nearby, Jaime was sure Bronn would occupy himself there before escorting Brienne back to camp. They walked hand in hand, back to the little hut where they’d spend the rest of the night together. He was nervous, more than he thought possible. 

“Ser Jaime...I-” 

“Wench, you are my wife. You don’t have to use titles.” 

Her cheeks flushed and he loved the sight of it. He’d never tire of it, not for the rest of their life together. He hoped sheds always be so easy to read, that she'd always expressed herself so viscerally. 

“Jaime...I feared you wouldn’t...that we would not...I hadn’t heard anything and then the note wasn’t from you and I was, well, I worried that the time had passed.”

Jaime pushed the door to the hut open and let Brienne enter first. Even in his euphoric state, he was still alert, his eyes swept the small space, ensuring they were alone. 

“I needed to get things in order, I didn’t mean to worry you...you said there was a note?” 

She reached under her chainmail and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, when he unfolded it, he noticed Cersei’s penmanship immediately. She’d attempted to lure Brienne out. He was sure the Mountain would have been there to receive Brienne. To take her head. The thought made his stomach roll. 

“How did you know it wasn’t from me?” 

She shook her head, “I didn’t. Ser Bronn saw me and stopped me. Demanded to see the letter because he claimed you wouldn’t trust anyone else to summon me.”

It seemed he owned Bronn a debt, he didn’t know how he’d thank him, but he would. He knew Cersei would strike, but he didn’t know how. Her method was devious. Leading Brienne to her death using him to do. He would have never forgiven himself if she’d been hurt or worse. 

“I owe him for your life.” 

“Don’t tell him that.” She smiled shyly at him and he chuckled. He wanted her to smile more often. She was always so firm, serious. He wanted to see the softer side of her. Shades of the woman he’d seen over the years. She looked around, her eyes falling on the bed and then turning back to him.

“Are we going to…”

“Not if you don’t want to.” 

“I’m your wife; it’s my duty.” 

“If you give yourself to me, I don’t want it to be out of duty. We don’t...it won’t make it any less real if we don’t. I’ll only take you to bed if you ask me too.” 

Brienne nodded and he turned away from her. Jaime found a small tray and placed some of the fruit and cheese on it. When he turned back to face Brienne, she’d removed his cloak and was unfastening her sword belt. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Brienne smiled and nodded gently. He placed the tray on the small table and followed her lead. He removed her cloak, admiring the small sunburst on it. He laid it across the chair and fiddled him his sword belt. He unfastened it and placed it next to Brienne’s sword. 

Jaime gathered two goblets and placed them on the table before grabbing the decanter and pouring them both wine. He watched her eat and if it unnerved her she didn’t say anything. He picked at some of the berries, leaving the larger pieces for her. Jaime knew they only had so much time, but he was content to sit across from her and watch her eat, It was peaceful. 

“Jaime...take me to bed.” 

It was barely above a whisper and she wasn’t looking at him, but he heard her. It left a heaviness in his belly. His heart fluttered, like a scared child’s would. He’d made all the plans, done everything in his power to make sure they could wed, but bedding her felt wrong. Like he would dishonor her. He didn't feel worthy of her.

Brienne stood and slowly began untying the leather ties that held her armor in place. Jaime watched her for a moment, her fingers deft and sure. He stood and reached out to help. They didn’t speak as piece by piece her armor was removed. When she stood before him in only a tunic and trousers, he took a deep breath. She didn’t have a woman’s shape, but his cocked stirred all the same. She looked every bit the Warrior in her armor, but standing before him; he could see the Maiden. 

“I know I’m not...I don’t have a lady’s figure, but I hope that you can find pleasure with me.” 

Jaime hated that she thought herself unworthy. Hated that he’d been cruel with his words when he’d met her. But he hoped that he could show her that she was more than he deserved and everything he’d ever want or need. 

“You have been all I think about since Harrenhal. What we will do this night will bring me more joy than I deserve.”

When he kissed her again, it wasn’t soft. Their teeth knocked together, their tongues were out of sync, but it was perfect in all its imperfection. He slowed down, changing the tempo and allowed himself to explore her mouth. To really taste her. Though she faltered, she tried to keep it. The shy touches of her tongue were a dream, the soft sounds she made seemed out of place, but he cherished them. She wasn't soft or pliant in his arms, and he found that he preferred the firmness of her ass as he rested his hand there and the thickness of her arms as she held him close. She was everything he’d been told a woman shouldn’t be, yet she was the only woman he wanted. 

Brienne pulled away, and he worried that it was too much too soon. He would accept it, accept that they would wait. The deed was already done, he’d sworn himself to her before the Seven and nothing would tear him from that vow. 

Her hands were steady as they untied the strings on his tunic, he raised his arms so she could remove it. She then took to the lace of her own tunic, loosening it but not removing it. 

“If you’re sure.” 

She nodded and he smiled at her. With his left hand and right stump, Jaime pushed the material away from her shoulders. She didn’t flinch at the feel of his stump. She barely looked twice at it. She didn’t view him as broken and it was a level of acceptance he didn’t realize he needed. He traced a single finger from her chin to the lace at her trousers. She didn’t blink as untied it and pushed both her trousers and small clothes down her long, toned legs. The patch of blond curls that covered her sex wasn’t new to him, though this time he’d get to explore what it kept hidden. 

He stayed kneeling, looking up at her, waiting for any sign that she was uncomfortable. Brienne didn’t recoil or even blink. He placed a gentle kiss to her right leg. The small sigh that fell from her lips spurred him on. He trailed his kisses upward. The closer he came to her apex, the stronger her scent was. It was most likely the most delicate thing about her. Yet it didn’t hold a floral scent. It was uniquely her. 

Jaime sat back on his legs, looking up at her. From her cheeks to below her chest was flushed red. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the backs of her legs and kissed the patch of hair. Her legs trembled in his arms. 

“I need to sit down.” 

He chuckled but stood and led her to the bed. It was barely large enough for the both of them, but it didn’t matter. She lowered herself onto it in a sitting position and once again, he kneeled before her. He gently pushed her legs open so he could comfortably occupy the space there. He kissed her chest before mapping her freckles with his tongue. He followed the abstract pattern to her pebbled nipple. She held his head there and arched into him. He pulled back to lavish the other nipple in similar attention. 

“Jaime…”

He reached between their bodies, brushing his fingers through her nether curls. The moisture there gave him the much-needed boost in confidence. He swiped his finger from her slit to her clit. She jumped away from his touch. He pulled away immediately. 

“I’m sorry.”

He looked into her eyes and could see so many things, but one thing that was hiding in her eyes was fear, and he never wanted to be the cause of that emotion. He would never hurt her, but he knew some tried. Others nearly succeeded. He pushed himself up from his kneeling position and pulled her with him. 

“I won’t hurt you, but I think I know what you need.” 

He took her hand and placed it just below his navel, near the laces that held his breeches in place. She was slow about untying them, but once she did, they fell quickly to the floor. 

“I’m yours. Do with me as you see fit.” 

Her eyes grew wide, and he hoped he hadn’t misread her. He hoped that surrendering control to her was what she needed. For a moment, they didn’t move, and it felt like time had stopped. Brienne saved him from all the potential negative thoughts by taking his mouth with hers. She pushed at his small clothes, and he helped her. She didn’t look down as she pulled him closer but she trembled in his arms when their bodies touched. 

She was unsure but sure all at once. She held Jaime close, gripped his arms, his back, his ass. It wasn’t long before her tongue was no longer unsure in his mouth. She lowered them onto the bed, him on top of her. The feel of her against him, beneath him, was mesmerizing. He ended the kiss, looking down into her eyes, needing to see the blue of them and needing to know that it was real. That she was real.

“I’m ready. Touch me.” 

He leaned on his right elbow and reached between them. He was no longer a novice with his left hand and he thanked the gods for that. She was slick and warm against his fingers, but he could feel the tension in her body. Space was minimal, but he managed to turn them so they were on their sides, so that he wasn’t towering over her.

When he reached between her legs again, she didn’t flinch. She squeaked and arched into him. It was the most uncharacteristic sound he’d ever heard from her. He leaned forward to kiss her as he teased her entrance with the tip of his finger. She didn’t open for him immediately and he knew that he’d have to change his approach once more. He moved down the bed, tapping her legs so she would move where he needed her to move. 

When Jaime was face to face with her most intimate parts, he leaned in and kissed it. Both his nose and mouth came away wet and all hope of him being calm left him. He licked her fully, enjoying the taste of her on his tongue and the sounds that met his ears. He nosed his way to the more delicate parts of her. As he flicked his tongue against her clit, a shudder racked her entire body. Brienne's thighs trembled against his ears while his tongue loved her tenderly. He basked in her audible breathing, how strong her fingers felt in his hair. How tightly her legs held his head. Nothing compared to the sight of her. How beautiful she looked in the moonlight. She wasn’t what many would call beautiful, but she was beautiful to him. 

She arched fully, her back coming completely off the bed as she trapped him between her legs. Her voice had taken on a deeper tone and then there was silence. Brienne's body spasmed against and around him before she deflated. Her legs fell away and she lay there, limb, breathing deeply. 

He nearly spilled his seed watching her come undone before him. He crawled up her body and kissed her, sharing the taste with her. She eagerly kissed him back and pulled him close. His cock pressed against her and they both gasped. She reached for him, wrapping her large hands around his member. It was a delicate line between pleasure and pain, her grip on him instinctively knew what he needed. 

“Tell me you’re sure.” 

“I am.” 

Jaime reached down, and together, they guided him between her legs. She flinched when he pushed against her entrance and the sound she made wasn’t pleasant. He stopped, but she shook her head. Brienne opened her legs further and rocked against him gently. Tears sprang to her eyes and she choked on a sob. 

“Brienne...we can stop.” 

“No...I….no.” 

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to her. He kissed her gently, trying to coax the pain away. She shook in his arms as he sunk into her fully. The sound she made against his mouth nearly broke him. She pulled away and nestled her face in his neck. Jaime didn’t dare move, couldn’t stand to cause her any more pain than he already had. He tried to ignore how warm she felt wrapped around him. Being one with her was nearly enough to finish him off. Being inside her was more than a physical experience and he should have known that would be the case. He would wait, he came second to what she needed.

They lay together, connected,but not moving. Jaime could feel her muscles began to loosen as her body relaxed. Brienne rocked against him and her sigh was no longer twinged with pain. She repeated the motion and once mroe, she no longer sounded like she was hurting. Her hands gripped his back and she rocked against him more firmly. He groaned deeply and thrust into her. 

“Jaime…”

He’d never thought much about how his name sounded, but he was sure no one had ever said it better. They moved as one, falling into a legato rhythm. His body moving with only one intent, pleaseing her. She left love bites on his neck and shoulders, her blunted nails dug into his ass, forcing him deeper. She tightened around his cock and he set a bruising pace. His hips slapped against her, with her full acceptance. She chanted his name, begged him to keep touching her. He felt the build-up within himself and he fought against it. He didn’t want it to end. He slowed his pace and she whined in his ear. Her pleas were needy and he was weak to her will. 

“Brienne…”

Jaime sucked a bruise into her neck as his body raced towards completion. He tried to stop, to pull away but she wouldn’t allow it. She held him close, locked her legs around him as he thrust into her. His body no longer his own. His only thought was to feel her fall apart. She fluttered then tightened around him before she went taut. Brienne's mouth fell open, but she didn’t close her eyes. They were nearly black, but she didn’t look away from him. His heart pounded as he felt his body tighten. He groaned deeply and he was grateful for her muscular build because he was sure he wouldn’t hurt her. The sound of their bodies meeting violently, filled the room. 

He pulled back, resting his weight on his legs and gripped her hips between hand and stump. Brienne's legs fell away and he began again, his thrust shorter and faster. He watched her watch him. The look in her eyes telling him everything. That she was indeed his and that she would give him what he needed. That she loved him, even though they had yet to say the words. It was enough.

He spilled his seed deep within her and he couldn’t regret it, though he knew he shouldn’t have. He fell against her and she wrapped him in strong arms and legs. She kissed him, a gentle press of her thick lips. 

“Mine.” She whispered. 

He nodded and relaxed against her, “Yours.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not sure if there's a Sept in River Row but just....suspend your disbelief.  
Tell your thoughts, was it worth the wait??


	8. The Choice Has Already Been Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to figure out how long this fic is going to be. So I changed it...again. Maybe this time, I got it right.   
Enjoy the chapter.  
~Jem

Streaks of pink lit the sky. It was beautiful. Brienne always liked the quiet of the morning. This morning was different. This morning, Jaime lay atop her, his breathing deep and even. There was a slickness to her skin, but she dare not wake him. Her husband. They were wed, and as one flesh, nothing could tear them asunder. 

Brienne never imagined she’d ever surrender her maidenhood. She thought she’d die the maid of Tarth. She’d come to terms with it. She knew what she looked like, knew that men wanted delicate and pretty, not firm and mulish. Her too broad shoulders, thick waist, and long legs had never appealed to anyone. She was too big. Too strong. He’d told her once, years ago, that he was strong enough. It’d been in jest before they’d learned to tolerate one another, but he’d been right. She smiled as she ran her fingers through Jaime's hair.

Trust did not come easy for her, and though she loved him, it’d been hard to allow herself to give in to what was happening, though she wanted to. He’d been patient and gentle when needed. He was skilled, he seemed to know what she needed before she did. She wouldn’t have known how to voice her needs, but it mattered not. It’d been perfect. She welcomed the aches and soreness that she felt, they made it real.

Jaime shifted atop her, pressing his pelvis against hers. Brienne gasped and arched into him, her body moving on its own accord. Was it possible to crave the feel of him so soon after she’d had him? Desire sang in her blood, and she wondered, would it continue, or was it his feel and smell that caused the wanton need for him?

He groaned into her neck as he pressed more firmly against her. Jaime lifted his head and looked down at her. Brienne loved him; she knew it as well as she knew her name. She’d loved him for years, and to be able to call him husband was a feat she never dreamed would come to past. 

“Wife.” 

Brienne smiled and felt her cheeks warm, “Husband.” 

The length of him was pressed against her, and she wanted nothing more than to reunite with him. To be one flesh. She didn’t know when they’d have the chance again. She held his gaze as she reached between them, he groaned when she gripped him and placed the tip of his cock at her entrance. She moved her hips upward, and he slid into her fully, like a sword in a sheath. 

In the pink light of morning, he was gorgeous, his pleasure written across his face. Brienne opened to him instantly, the fear that gripped her before nonexistent. She hungrily took what he gave her and gave all she could in return. She’d learn he liked to be held tightly. He liked it when she pressed her lips to his ear and called to him. Loved when she bit him. 

She learned that while she appreciated his gentleness, she loved when he lost himself. When the line between pleasure and pain blurred. When he thrust so fully and deeply into her that she thought they’d become one permanently. The sounds that their bodies made pushed her toward her release. 

Jaime gripped her leg in his good hand and brought it up to his hip. It felt like there was more of him in her, that he’d located some lost part of her that she never knew existed. The edges of her vision blurred. The gruff sounds he made kept her present as her body felt near explosion. There was nothing for her to liken it to. 

“Jaime…”

It sounded needy to her own ears, and by the ferocity of his thrust, he felt the same. He filled her completely, a perfect fit. As if their bodies were made solely for one another. Brienne couldn’t imagine giving herself to anyone else. She could feel him twitch within her, she knew what it meant. He began to slow his movements. She gripped his chin, her nails biting into the skin. 

“Don’t. Please.”

She knew why he worried, respected his chivalry, but she would have him finish in the warmth of her body. Jaime didn’t move, and she thought he would disregard her, but then his body rocked against her. She gasped and cried out for him. 

“I can deny you nothing.” 

Their bodies connected violently as if they hated one another. Gone was any trace of tenderness. Brienne would have marks from the grip of his hand, she would look upon them with fondness when the time came. Wanting to give him to same, she left her brand across his neck and shoulders.

Jaime moved her leg again, sinking into her without abandon. He whispered things in her ear that would make a whore blush. She relished it. Loved that even once she reached the top of her pleasure, he didn’t stop.

There was nothing she could compare to feeling Jaime reach his climax because of her. The way he sounded, the way his cock twitched inside her before his seed spilled deep within her, the way he said her name. As if she were the most precious thing in all the realms. She wondered how people stopped once they started. She didn’t know how she’d give up having him now that she’d experienced it. 

“You make it difficult for me to want to leave this bed, wench.” He smiled down at her before closing the distance between them. His lips were insistent, his tongue masterful. She couldn’t cope, she pulled away.

“We have to stop.” Brienne was breathless, her body poised for more. Jaime smirked down at her, mischief evident in his eyes. It didn’t help her resolve. He was truly beautiful, too beautiful. It was hard to believe he wedded and bedded her. He’d tied himself to her for the rest of their lives. 

“You want me to stop, wife?” He rocked against her gently, his cock still inside her though it had softened. She sighed and shook her head.

“I need you to stop, we’re set to make way back to Winterfell this morn. I have to be there...and I won’t leave this bed if you continue.” She hated how breathless she sounded. How needy she was. She never needed anyone for anything, yet she didn’t know how she’d cope without him in the coming days. It caused her eyes to fill with tears. 

He brushed his lips against hers before pulling away. She missed the feel of him within her and the warmth of his body. She’d grown accustomed to sleeping beside him once before, it’d been hard to learn to sleep alone once they made it to King’s Landing. This would be harder. 

She sat up and watched him walk about the small house, bare as the day he came into the world. He poured himself a bit of wine and drank it, his eyes trained on her. He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. It made her feel small. 

“Have you made plans. For the war?” 

Jaime arched an eyebrow and lowered his goblet. A single drop of wine hung on his lip before rolling down. She tracked it with her eyes, watching it fall into his navel. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“To march North. Have you made the plans?” 

Jaime shook his head and walked over to the trunk at the end of the bed, “in the coming days. I had ravens sent to our bannermen, I assume we’ll be ready to march in a sennight. It’s about two full moons to Winterfell. The journey is long and miserable, with winter settling in. It may take us longer.” 

He pulled out his armor, his golden hand, trousers, a tunic, and small clothes. How it was there, Brienne didn’t know. He made a strange sound in his throat before pulling out a vial. He stood and sat on the edge of the bed. He held it out to her. “It’s moon tea. I didn’t ask Bronn for it, but he seemed to know we may need it. I won’t force you to drink it. The choice is yours.” 

Brienne held his gaze as she took the vial from him. The idea of a child, his child, was glorious. They’d have his eyes and chin, her strength and none of her looks. But war was coming, and she didn’t know how long they’d fight. Once the dead were defeated, two women wished to be Queen, and there was only one throne. War was all she could focus on for the foreseeable future.

“I’m more useful with a sword in my hand than a babe in my belly.” 

He nodded, and she could see the sadness in his eyes. If she were to fall pregnant, the child would be legitimate. Not a bastard nor a child parading as another man’s seed. She wanted to give him that, but she was honor-bound to fight. She caressed his cheek, bringing him close to her. 

“When the fighting is over, and we are sworn only to one another, I’ll give you an heir. I swear it.” She kissed him, letting her tongue tangle with his. Hoping that he knew that she wished things were different, but she wouldn’t regret it. Everything that had happened led them to where they were. Together. 

“I shall hold you to that vow, my lady.” 

* * *

“You’re sure of it?” Brienne asked, and Jaime couldn’t help but chuckle at her concern. They’d discussed it twice, but she was still uneasy. Her armor was important to her, he knew that. Gifting it to her had been both terrifying and exhilarating. Knowing that she would be protected, but also knowing what a gift such as that could mean. Did mean. 

“You have to travel through the city on foot. You don’t have the cover of darkness to hide you. Your armor will be in your tent when you arrive.” Jaime cupped the back of her neck and gently touched his forehead to hers. He took a deep breath, committing her scent to memory. She was his wife, and it felt good. Better than good. Having her, holding her, loving her. It made him want to give it all up. He could ride with her to Winterfell. He could fight by her side. Sleep in her bed. He didn’t have to go back to Cersei and pretend. 

“Your thoughts are very loud, Jaime.” Brienne pulled away and looked into his eyes. Hers were majestic; it seemed as if the gods were showing off when they gave her those eyes. 

“You’ll march north with the Lannister army at your back, and once the dead are defeated...you can decide where you want to be.”

“You are my wife.”

“And she is your Queen. I won’t make you choose.” 

He leaned up to kiss her. It was forceful, a message to her. To himself. He’d made his choice when they stood on the sept. When they consummated their marriage. He chose her. 

“The choice has already been made. I am yours, and you are mine. This will be the last time I send you off.” He pulled her to him, his armor not allowing him to feel her fully. He would hold the memory of her in his mind until they were reunited. Every touch, every kiss, every sigh. It would keep him going. 

Brienne nestled into his neck, he felt the brush of her lips before she pulled away. She didn’t look at him, she was hiding her pain from him. He kissed her forehead, his eyes burning. He let his hand caress the leather of his jerkin. She wore it well. She finally looked at him. Her gaze screaming her love for him. It would be cruel to make such a declaration when they were to part once again. He stepped aside and she nodded before walking out of the small house that had been their escape from everything happening in the realm. He followed her, stood in the door as she pulled on his cloak. She looked back at him, a lone tear rolling down her cheek. 

“Yours,” she whispered in the quiet of the morning.  
  
“Mine,” he responded. She smiled at him, a small one.

“We best be off Lady Lannister,” Bronn said, a shit-eating grin on his face. Brienne blushed but nodded. He watched them walk away until he couldn’t see them anymore. A man in a wagon approached and Jaime waved at him, recognizing him. He stepped down, before walking inside. 

“The camp is outside of the Dragon Gate, her tent is on the eastern side of camp, third from the King in the North’s. See to it this arrives before the sun has fully risen.” 

The young fishermen nodded and loaded the pieces of Brienne’s armor into his wagon. He covered it with throws and blankets before setting off. Jaime walked back into the small hut and looked around. She was everywhere, and the absence of her hurt more than it ever had. He looked at the bed, the proof of her surrendered maidenhood looked back at him. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and cut into the thin sheet, pulling away a jagged strip of fabric. He wrapped it carefully around his stump and pulled on his golden hand. 

Jaime stepped out of the hut and mounted the horse Bronn had left for him. He rode back towards the Red Keep. He would do as was commanded of him. He would gather his bannermen and ride North. Once the war against the dead was over, he would send the Lannister army south under some lord’s command, and he would declare himself to the North. He grew tired of the Game of Thrones, it was time for Jaime to live for himself. 


	9. Four Days Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies, first and foremost I'M SO SORRY.   
I didn't realize it'd been so long since I updated. I got caught up in my other WIP and the series I'm writing.   
This fic is my baby, it's my first step into this fandom and I will never abandon it, I just want you all to know that. This chapter was so fucking hard to write because it's a filler kinda and I didn't know how I wanted to tackle it. My muse bit me in the ass tonight and I've just been catching up on some writing.   
I won't keep you and I'm sorry it's short but I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> ~Jem

They were definitely nearing Winterfell. Snow stuff to the ground and the trees and the temperature dropped in the past fortnight. The men no longer rode with mirth, jokes, and crude language. There was a clear desire to cover a decent amount of ground daily so that they could find a hearth with fire and food. The outline of the massive castle loomed against the grey sky. Not much further, then everything changed, or was it precisely the same? In Winterfell, she wasn’t Jaime’s wife, she was Sansa’s sworn hand. She was a soldier in a war that was far bigger than her. She was a shield for Lady Sansa's back, but she was also Jaime's. 

“M’lady!”

Brienne took a deep breath before slowing her horse so Podrick could catch up to her. She’d ridden ahead, needing a moment of quiet, but she knew she owned Podrick an explanation. He hadn’t asked when she arrived back to camp as they were preparing to leave. He didn’t ask during the first moon of their travels or the sennight following it.

“Podrick.” She nodded, attempting to formulate a response to his unspoken question. She’d thought of little else but Jaime, her husband. Surely he’d taken his leave from King’s Landing. An army at his back marching for Winterfell. They’d be reunited soon. There was a sense of weakness that came with marriage, or rather a marriage of love. Having a husband that you couldn’t stand the thought of losing changed how she thought. The notion that Jaime could be hurt caused her to feel ill. She’d known for years that she loved him, but having his love in return changed everything.

“Not too much longer now.” 

She looked over at Podrick, “Two days time I’d say, if the snow continues on as it is.” 

Another silence fell between them, the sound of the wind and the chatter of the men their only companion. 

“Ser Jaime should be marching North with the Lannister army as we speak.” 

“He should yes, preparations were beginning when we left King’s Landing.” 

“Did you help him coordinate with his bannermen? Is that where you were the eve of our departure?” 

She cut her eyes at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. She could tell he was working very hard to keep his eyes forward. She did not fault him; he was her squire, and more than that, he was her friend. She’d hadn’t left word, and she offered no explanation when she arrived that morn with Ser Bronn of all people. 

“No, I did not help coordinate.” She took a deep breath, “I count you among a small number of people I trust, Podrick.” 

He looked at her then, she inhaled, filling her lungs with the crisp cold air, “Ser Jaime and I-”

“Do you see an inn up there?” 

Both she and Pod turned to see Ser Davos approaching. “The men are cold and restless, we could do with a warm meal. The snow’s making it impossible to make camp.” 

“There’s a tavern not far from here, just across the bridge, Ser,” Podrick answered. 

Ser Davos nodded and waved the men forward. They were quite the group, men from all walks of life and then there was Brienne. She watched as Beric Dondarrion and Clegane rode ahead, unsure if they were the best pair to secure food and lodging. 

“I’m sure the others are already in Winterfell, why I opted not to sail from White Harbour is beyond me.” Davos chuckled and shook his head. 

“We’re scouting, and you’re good at that Ser.” 

Davos and Podrick shared a look, “I should catch those two, not the best for the task at hand.” 

Podrick didn’t speak as Davos rode away, but Brienne could sense his eyes on her. She’d worked up the courage before and was interrupted. It was only Podrick, he wouldn’t judge her, she was sure he wouldn’t even be surprised. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done, but it was hers. It was a decision she made that had nothing to do with honor or oaths. She wasn’t compelled to do it because of anyone else, not for heirs or to please her father. She did it purely because she wanted to because she loved him. Has loved him. For years. 

“We’re married.” 

She looked at Podrick to gauge his reactions, his eyes widened for a moment, but then he only nodded, a small smile on his face. He didn’t ask questions, and she appreciated that. She’d shared enough. 

They arrived at the tavern and took care of their horses. When they entered Clegane, Davos and Dondarrion were already eating. Podrick went to find the innkeeper, and Brienne sat at the table with the others. 

“If we get an early start and ride hard, we should make it to Winterfell by nightfall.” 

Brienne shook her head, “We’re still two days out, even with hard riding, we’ll make it midday, day after tomorrow.” 

“We can see Winterfell from here, m'lady, surely we can break bread in the castle tomorrow night,” Dondarrian added. 

“Ay. We’re low on gold, and it’s fucking cold, we should ride until we reach Winterfell.” 

Brienne sighed but didn't disagree, she would let them think they could ride through, and she would pay for their food and lodging tomorrow night when they were far enough from Winterfell to make continuing to ride unreasonable. Podrick sat next to her and gave her a key. The innkeeper arrived with a bird and some bread that the two of them shared. It didn’t take long for them to finish their meal, and they wasted little time finding their rooms, they'd had a long day ahead. 

* * *

“Not a word Tarth, not one fucking word.” Clegane ambled into the inn after putting his horse in the stable. Brienne hid her smirk behind her hand as he sat and grabbed a bowl of soup. He ripped off a piece of bread and dunked it in his bowl. 

"Midday tomorrow sounds good, thanks for this.” Beric smiled and tilted his cup of ale in her direction. 

“Lannister gold is good for something, I guess,” Clegane muttered, Brienne didn’t respond, she'd didn't know what Clegane knew, but he's seen her leaving camp, and he's said somethings about Jaime. She wouldn't engage with him, especially in front of everyone but Podrick sat up a little straighter beside her. He didn’t have to jump to her defense because Davos beat her to it. 

“I do believe Lord Tyrion gave me a purse of gold before we parted ways. It paid for most of the inns along the way, so yes, I’d say Lannister gold is good for something.” 

Brienne appreciated his words, she didn’t know what he knew or what he suspected, but Davos seemed like the kind of man that didn’t bother with gossip. The tension at the table waned, and they ate most of their meal in silence. 

“When we arrive, what is the first order of business?” 

Brienne swallowed her mouthful and looked at Podrick, “I’ll find Lady Sansa, and we will discuss what has transpired since my departure. I’m sure she’s already been informed of what happened at the Dragon Pit.”

“I’d of thought you’d be to Winterfell by now.” The table looked up to see Tyrion walking into the inn, two Unsullied at his back. “I rode ahead, I tire of the cold, we’re still meant to take another four days if anyone wants to rest before the shit show.” 

Podrick and Brienne shared a glance, “We’ll leave at first light, I wish to arrive for Lady Sansa before the Dragon Queen, we thought you’d surely arrive before us.” 

Tyrion waved over the innkeeper and ordered three bowls of soup and more ale. The Unsullied didn’t sit, but Tyrion would coerce them into eating, of that Brienne was sure. She listened to the conversation that Tyrion led. The Dragon Queen would be arriving at Winterfell in four days time with her army of Unsullied, Dothraki & two dragons. The North would not be receptive to such an intrusion. Brienne knew that she needed to prepare Lady Sansa for what was to come. 

* * *

Brienne and Podrick rode into Winterfell shortly after the midday meal. Preparations were underfoot, people were milling about. Brienne nodded at those that acknowledged her as she and Pod headed for the stables. The stablehand took their horses and directed her to where he believed Lady Sansa to be. Brienne moved with purpose through the halls of Winterfell, before arriving at Lady Sansa’s chambers, she knocked and was told to enter. 

Sansa sat at her desk, reading over parcels. 

“M’lady.” 

Sansa looked up and gave a small smile to Brienne. Brienne could sense a change in Lady Sansa, and she’d noticed that she hadn’t seen Lord Baelish skulking about. She wondered if Sansa wisened up and sent him away. Brienne couldn’t say she’d be sad to know he’d gone. 

“Brienne, how was the journey South?” 

“Long and eventful. I won’t mince words, my lady, the dead are quite terrifying. The demonstration was a sight...The Queen has-”

“She’s no Queen. She’s awful, and I hope she soon follows her children to meet the Stranger.” 

Brienne kept her emotions inside, not allowing her horror to show on her face. While she held no love for Cersei, the children...well, at least two of them, were innocent and had not deserved the death they’d experienced. She didn’t even allow herself to think about the fact that Cersei’s children were also Jaime’s children. In Winterfell, she couldn’t be Jaime’s wife, she was Lady Sansa’s sworn sword, she would have to continuously remind herself of that. 

“What tales did Cersei spin?” 

Brienne took a deep breath, “She’s sending her army North to help face the dead. Once the war is won, she and the Dragon Queen will revisit their claims to the throne.” 

Sansa scoffed and began to pace, “she won’t send her army North. She doesn’t care about the North and if the Dragon Queen...if my brother believed her, then they’re both fools.” 

Brienne held her tongue, she knew that Jaime was organizing the quest North. He planned to march with the Lannister army at his back, she believed him, knew he would do all he could to ensure the living lived. He would come, she knew he would.

“She gave her word, my lady.” 

“The word of a Lannister means nothing. They’re all liars.” 

Her words cut deep, her husband was a Lannister, by extension,  _ she  _ was a Lannister. There was a time when Brienne would have agreed with Sansa, she’d only known Jaime as the Kingslayer, an Oathbreaker, but he was so much more than that. 

“I don’t believe Lord Tyrion is dishonest, my lady.” 

Sansa turned away from Brienne, “He’s a decent man, born to an unfortunate house. He’s nothing like the golden twins. He was nothing but kind to me.” 

She couldn’t go against Sansa, but every bone in her body wanted to defend her husband. She wished she’d known how hard it would be to allow ill words to be spoken of him once she laid claim to him. Giving herself to him caused something to shift in her. She would never be a simpering damsel, but she was no longer an unloved maid. Love was dangerous. Love made you do things. Love made your tongue loose and your muscles tense for battle. Love made you rethink decisions, vows, and oaths. Love changed you completely, and Brienne didn't know how to be this new woman. 

“When will they arrive?” 

“Four days time, my lady.” 

Sansa nodded and retook her place behind her desk, sifting through parcels. Brienne watched as darkness clouded Sansa’s face. It was something she’d never seen before. 

“I didn’t see Lord Baelish when I arrived, has he returned to the Vale?” 

Sansa dropped the scroll she’d been reading and looked up at Brienne, coldness in her eyes. “Lord Baelish is dead, punished for his crimes against the Stark family.” 

Brienne nodded, not surprised but slightly concerned for the state of her Lady. Sansa had been timid and scared when Brienne found her the second time, nearly frozen, battered but not quite broken. She was transforming into something else, something formidable. Brienne could only hope that the humility that she knew Sansa possessed would stand the test of her transformation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @justjameka  
I'm accepting prompts!


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